I WAS BORN
IN CAIRO in 1920 into a middle-class Jewish family. My father, too, was born
in Cairo, and my mother, born in Turkey, was brought to Cairo as a teenager.
Both of my parents were of Sephardic origin. However, my father had acquired
Italian citizenship from his father, which made me legally an Italian citizen
as well. This seeming anomaly was the result of an agreement, arrived at approximately
one hundred years earlier, whereby the rulers of Egypt accepted arrangements
for all foreigners and their children to derive their legal status from the
consul of the country of their origin. This system of foreign protection came
to be called the Laws of Capitulations and originated under the Ottomans.
Capitulations were treaties of commerce guaranteeing that the interests of
foreigners immigrating to Egypt would be safeguarded by their own consuls,
and they would not be taxed. However, since this led to a chaotic legal situation,
so-called Mixed Courts were established in 1885 to handle litigation between
a foreigner and an Egyptian. It is undcrstandable why foreigners living for
several generations in Egypt maintained the citizenship of their country of
origin. In many instances, Jews were able to obtain foreign citizenship, foreign
powers did not mind having a larger representation of persons bearing their
own passports. The Capitulations were eliminated in 1937 (in the Treaty of
Montreux) and taxation was imposed on foreign businesses. Individual taxation
came later.

While my family claimed
Italian citizenship, their first language was French. French influence dated
back to Napoleon's conquest of Egypt in the latter part of the eighteenth
century and to the later establishment of French schools throughout the Middle
East, including Egypt. My family was also fluent in Ladino, a type of archaic
Spanish which included many French, Turkish, and Hebrew words with Spanish
endings. Many of the old-timers wrote Ladino in Hebrew (Rashi) script. This
was not a language which was systematically studied like French but was acquired
in the home and used with family members and friends of similar background.
Most of the Jews in Egypt spoke Arabic at different levels of competence,
but very few learned literary Arabic, which required years of study and was
not used in common communication. Colloquial Arabic was used primarily with
service people, such as maids, waiters, and shopkeepers.

Prior to the arrival
in Egypt of foreign Jews during the middle of the nineteenth century, there
was a small number of indigenous Jews (Musta'arbin) who had lived in the country
for centuries and whose mother tongue was Arabic. They were considered dhimmis,
that is, protected people under Islam, a kind of second-class citizenship.
Christians were subject to the same status. Dhimmis had to pay heavy taxes
called jizya and were exempt from military service,

Prior to the destruction
of the Second Temple, Jewish civilians and mercenaries had settled on the
island of Elephantine in the Upper Nile and had formed a frontier garrison
for the protection of the Pharaohs against outside invaders. In later centuries,
following the conquest of Egypt by Alexander the Great, Jews became prominent
in Alexandria. The community was strongly Hellenized but maintained its Jewish
faith. Its members participated in and contributed to Greek cultural life.
This was the time when the Bible was translated into Greek (the Septuagint)
and when Philo wrote his philosophical treatises. Later, under the occupation
by the Romans, the enmity between the Jews and Greeks led to a revolt, and
the Romans destroyed the Jewish community (115-117 C.E.) The revolt was instigated
by Christian Greeks who conducted a number of pogroms. Jewish life in Alexandria
subsequently disappeared.

In 640, Egypt was conquered
by Arabs from the Arabian Peninsula under the banner of Muhammad, who established
a new religion, Islam. Little information about Jews in Egypt in the years
between that conquest and the end of the tenth century is available. In 960,
the Fatimids (Shi'ite Muslims) conquered the country and a period of relative
but inconsistent prosperity followed. The Fatimids relaxed the Laws of Omar,
but some rulers were less tolerant than others. The Laws of Omar consisted
of a series of acts of degradation, such as wearing signs indicating Jewishness
and prohibitions against riding horses and bearing arms. During the Fatimid
period there was some intellectual activity until the time when the Mamelukes
assumed power (1250). The following centuries saw the social improvement of
the Egyptian Jewish community (as recorded in the Geniza documents). A number
of Spanish Jews expelled from the Iberian peninsula in 1492 alighted in Egypt,
but most of them settled in the Ottoman Empire.

One of the illustrious
leaders of the Cairo Jewish community was Maimonides (1135-1204), who was
born in Cordova, Spain, but fled from the Almohadic (Muslim) persecution.
The Mameluke rule was followed by persecution of both Jews and Christians
and continued until 1517, when the Ottoman Turks conquered Egypt. Early in
their occupation, at the height of their power, the Turks tended to be more
tolerant. Most of the finances of Egypt were in the hands of Jews, who were
appointed as chelebi (gentlemen). However, the decline of the Turkish Empire,
with its wars against Russia, correlates with the decline of the Jewish community.
Many chelebi were executed by Turkish governors either because of slander
by their entourage or because of jealousy of the Jewish wealth.

In 1798, Egypt was conquered
by Napoleon, and while the French occupation was short-lived (1798-1801),
it left a strong imprint on the Westernization of the country. Shortly thereafter,
Muhammad Ali, a former Albanian officer in the service of the Turks, took
over the reins of power. He ruled the country from 1805-1848 and established
his own dynasty; King Faruk was his great-great-grandson. Faruk was forced
to abdicate in 1952 after a military coup under the leadership of Muhammad
Naguib and Gamal Abdal Nasser. Muhammad Ali's decision to modernize the country
led to an influx of foreigners, who provided the necessary training of his
army to defeat, the Turks at a later period. A greater influx took place during
the building of the Suez Canal in the 1860s, under Said and later under Khedive
Ismail, the grandson of Muhammad Ali. Because of the latter's excessive modernization
programs and indebtedness to foreign powers, Egypt was occupied by the British
in 1882, and the shares of the Suez Canal were used to pay the debts. This
brought greater prosperity to those Jews involved in commerce, banking, and
railroads.

At the turn of the century,
there were approximately 25,000 Jews living in Egypt, divided into four groups.
The first, the indigenous Jews, spoke Arabic and lived in a secluded area
in Cairo called Haret el Yahoud (the Jewish quarter). The second group, European
Jews of Sephardic origin, were dominant and conducted their businesses of
banking, manufacturing, and real estate in French, although many of them also
spoke Ladino. This group included Jews from Italy and Corfu, as well as North
Africa and the Levant. The third group was relatively small; it consisted
of Ashkenazi Jews who had fled the pogroms of Russia and arrived in poverty,
but who very shortly were able to participate in the economy of the country.
Some had come from Palestine during World War I, forced out of the country
by Turkey, Germany's ally. In Cairo they maintained their separate rabbinate;
Yiddish was their principal language. In other cities Sephardic and Ashkenazi
Jews were under one rabbinate. The Sephardic rabbi in Cairo represented all
Jewry to the Egyptian government. The fourth group were the Karaites, a sect
established in the eighth century, which accepted only the authority of the
Bible and rejected rabbinic writings. By 1947, Jews in Egypt reached their
highest number. It is estimated that the total was approximately 80,000, 96
percent residing in the two major cities, Cairo (64 percent) and Alexandria
(32 percent). In spite of their low numbers in the total population (0.4 percent),
their contribution to the economy of the country was considerable.

Most of the Jews in Egypt
received their education in foreign schools, primarily French secular schools
(Lycees Francais) and schools established by the College des Freres, a Catholic
order. Professional training and higher education were obtained abroad. Few
Jews of European origin were able to attend the Egyptian universities; since
they had not mastered written Arabic, they could not be admitted, in spite
of the fact that English and French were widely used, particularly in the
sciences, medicine, and law. I myself attended the College des Freres, where
almost half the students were Jewish. The language of instruction for all
courses was French. Arabic and English were taught as second languages two
to three hours a week. There were a number of elementary Jewish communal schools,
but only children of modest means attended them. In these schools, too, French
was the dominant language, with Hebrew secondary. In Cairo there was also
a small afternoon school (Talmud Torah) attached to the main synagogue, teaching
Hebrew and Bible. Talmudic academies did not exist. Those seeking further
religious education or rabbinical training had to go to the island of Rhodes,
which was part of Italy before World War II. The influence of French education
had the tendency to detach young Jewish people from their Arab environment.

Life for Egyptian Jews
was quite comfortable. Practically all could afford to keep servants and to
vacation regularly at the resort beaches in Alexandria and Port Said. There
were also recreational clubs like the Union Universelle de la Jeunesse Juive
and the Judeo-Espagnole (later changed to Judeo-Egyptienne). I and a group
of friends from the College des Freres organized a boys' club called the Jewish
Camping Club; we would go on weekend trips to places like the Pyramids, Meadi,
Helwan (Spa), Suez, the Mokattam mountains, and the Fayyum oasis south of
Cairo. Most Jews, except for those living in the Haret el Yahoud, considered
themselves secular Jews. Jewish learning was minimal; bar-mitzvah preparation,
for instance, consisted of a few months of instruction by a private tutor.

Most of the large department
Egyptian stores were owned by Jews, with names like Cicurel, Oreco, Chemla,
Gattegno, Ades, Cohenca, Simon-Artz, Morums, and Benzion. A notable exception
was the Sednaoui store, which was owned by Christian immigrants from Syria
but whose employees were largely Jewish. Most of these names are still to
be found gracing Cairo storefronts, despite the fact that today the Jewish
community in Egypt is almost extinct.

In the '20s and '30s,
when I was growing up, we rarely personally experienced any anti-Semitism.
To be sure, we knew that anti-Jewish feeling was part of the Egyptian historical
legacy and could, at any time, break out again; but in general, Jews felt
secure under British rule. However, once the British were forced out of the
country (in 1954), this sense of ease evaporated. Even before the British
evacuation, I saw the writing on the wall and, during World War II, registered
my family at the American Embassy for purposes of immigration to the United
States. At the time this was not considered a wise move on my part.

The first serious inkling
of things to come occurred on November 2, 1945, the anniversary of the Balfour
Declaration. Some minor anti-Jewish agitation had broken out in 1938, but
in 1945, members of the youth organization Young Egypt and of the Moslem Brotherhood
attacked the Jewish quarter in Cairo, resulting in many casualties. They set
fire to a synagogue, demolished a Jewish hospital, an old-age home, and other
Jewish institutions. It was the beginning of the end of the Jewish, as well
as the foreign, communities. A combination of factors led to their demise.
With industrialization, a new Egyptian social class had developed, causing
tension between them and Jews and Christians in the country. While Zionist
activities were tolerated in the past, the defeat of Arab armies during the
Israeli-Arab wars was instrumental in exacerbating anti-Jewish feelings. Moreover,
Muslim fundamentalism contributed substantially to the prevailing xenophobia.
After each war, Jewish property was confiscated and Jews were imprisoned in
concentration camps or forced into exile, leaving behind their assets. Regular
travel abroad became a problem since exit visas were required.

In 1947, the Company
Law was enacted, mandating all business enterprises to maintain a majority
of "Egyptian nationals," 75 percent of all salaried employees in
off ices and 90 percent of all workers in factories. The term "Egyptian
nationals" was often interpreted to mean only Muslims and the law even
discriminated against the indigenous Christians, the Copts. Since a large
number of enterprises were controlled by foreigners, many found themselves
forced to fire their non-Egyptian employees. In 1948, in spite of the fact
that I was working for a Jewish firm, I was discharged because of my Italian
citizenship. Some Jews tried to obtain Egyptian citizenship, but this was
difficult since it was necessary to prove that one's parents and grandparents
had been born in the country, and many, of course, did not qualify.

Now began the new exodus
of the Jews from Egypt. Following the 1948 Israeli-Arab war, 20,000 to 30,000
Jews, who could no longer obtain employment, left the country. Because foreign
businesses and institutions were exempt from the Company Law, I was able at
first to work for a business representing the Communist government of Hungary;
later I joined the staff of the American Friends Services Committee, which
was involved in helping Palestinian refugees in Gaza. I remained there until
1949, by which time the refugee question changed from a humanitarian problem
to one of a political nature. In 1952 Nasser came to power. Egyptian nationalism
intensified, and the decisive blow to Egyptian Jewry was struck in 1956 when
Israel, France, and England attacked Egypt after the country had nationalized
the Suez Canal. There were mass arrests, sequestrations, and ill treatment
not only of Jews but also of French and British citizens. Within a few months,
another 40,000 to 50,000 Jews left the country; all their assets, including
property, were confiscated. In 1967 there were about 3,000 Jews left. By the
1980s the number had dwindled to about 200. At the present time it is estimated
that only 100 or so old people still remain in Egypt.

The Egyptian Jewish emigrants
scattered throughout the world. They settled in Israel (35,000); Brazil (15,000);
France (10,000); the U.S.A. (9,000); Argentina (9,000); and Great Britain
(4,000). A few very rich Egyptian Jews and non-Jews managed to become residents
of Switzerland. Thus, within the space of a few years, the Egyptian Jewish
community, which had been in existence for 2,500 years, in effect ceased to
exist. I myself had already left Egypt in 1950.

Following the signature
of the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt in 1979, a number of Egyptian
Jews were able to return to Egypt for visits. There were many reports of poor
social conditions in Egypt and the deterioration of services since the departure
of the foreign communities. Almost thirty years of hostilities against Israel
and the excessive military expenditures had seriously affected the infrastructure
of the country. Visitors to Egypt were told they could not drink the water
because of pollution, and that only bottled drinks were safe. In my day there
was no such problem. Cairo then was a relatively clean and well-ordered city,
with a population of 2,250,000. The number has since grown to 14 or 15 million,
with all the consequent urban deterioration.

I was reluctant to visit
the city of my birth and would have preferred not to disturb my memories of
Cairo as it was in the 1920s, '30s, and '40s. However, not long ago, my daughter
was attending the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and while I was visiting
her, she expressed a desire to see Egypt and asked me to accompany her. When
I balked, she announced that she would go anyway, but that without me the
trip would not be as meaningful. Her argument was convincing.

I did not expect us to
meet any Jews I had known from before, since all were gone, but I looked forward
to visiting the synagogue where I had my bar mitzvah and which I used to attend
frequently with my father. During the two days we spent in Cairo, we went
sightseeing during the day and at night visited the familiar places of my
youth. On the first day we set out by bus for the Pyramids, driving slowly
past village after village. We were in heavy traffic all the way and the trip
took almost two hours. I remember that as a teenager, I used to ride my bicycle
out to the Pyramids; the trip then, non-stop there and back, could be accomplished
in only one hour.

We visited the street
where I was born, Sharia (Street) Tursina. The street sign, covered by years
of grime, was hardly visible. The elevators in my old apartment building were
not functioning; a person coining down the stairs told us that the elevators
had not been working for years. We also paid a visit to the Catholic school
of my early education. Nothing in the building had changed. The familiar playground
was still in its old location, but it was much smaller than I had remembered.
Unlike in my day, Arabic was now the chief language of instruction, and there
were very few foreigners in the school.

Next we visited the American
University in Cairo, where I did my undergraduate work. The school was housed
in a former palace and was sufficient to accommodate all the academic needs
of the day. Now the old palace was being used as the administration building.
A whole new campus had grown up in the surrounding open spaces in the meantime,
with many new buildings. The student body, of course, had grown accordingly.
No surprise, since the American University is the only place in Egypt where
it is possible to obtain a liberal education.

Many of the streets of
Cairo had been named after illustrious citizens who bore noble titles of Turkish
origin, like Pasha or Bey. Such titles were eliminated with the establishment
of the Egyptian Republic after the departure of King Faruk. Most of the street
names were then changed to reflect the new conditions. For example, I used
to live on Sharia Malika Farida, named after Faruk's first wife. When he divorced
her, the name was changed to Abdel Khalet Saroit Pasha. Now, dropping the
title, it is called simply Abdel Khalet Saroit. The main street of Cairo,
Sharia Fuad I, named after Faruk's father (all the names of the royal family
began with F), was changed to the Street of the 6th of July, to commemorate
an important date in modern Egyptian history. Suleiman Pasha, another major
Cairo thoroughfare, also had undergone a transformation. Originally named
after a French officer in the army of Muhammad Ali, a converted Christian
who rose to eminence in Egyptian politics, the street was now called Sharia
Harb.

On Sharia Fuad there
used to be, as I recalled, a famous pastry shop, Tseppas, which was one of
our favorite spots for cake. I was pleased to see that the shop was still
there under its old name. A scion of the Tseppas family had been a classmate
of mine at the College des Freres, and I therefore asked the pastry-shop attendant
if there were any Tseppases still around. He told me, with a smile, that they
had left the country a long time ago. Sharia Fuad was also the location of
two favorite ice-cream parlors and restaurants called "A l'Americaine."
The establishments were still there, under their old name, but their former
sparkle, at least to me, was no longer in evidence. For old-times' sake, I
took my daughter to Groppi's, a combination pastry shop, restaurant, and nightclub
owned by Greeks. In its heyday it was the major meeting place of the then
jet set; now it is a run-down cafe where people drink tea or coffee and play
backgammon.

Our visit fell over a
weekend and on Saturday morning my daughter and I went to the Sha'ar Ha-Shamayim
synagogue, commonly called Temple Ismailiah, where I had my bar mitzvali.
To my surprise, given all the changes, most for the worse, that I had seen
so far, the synagogue was as beautiful and resplendent as when I had left
Egypt in 1950. We were told that the synagogue had become the recipient of
a handsome donation by Nissim Gaon, a rich Swiss businessman born in the Sudan,
for the purpose of renovation and upkeep. I entered the sanctuary with great
emotion, for this was where my father used to take me on Sabbaths and holidays.
I remembered very clearly the beautiful singing of our cantor, who was originally
from Czechoslovakia. I also recalled the sermons of our rabbi, Haim Nahum
Effendi, who served between 1925-1961. He was totally blind and a shamash
(beadle) always had to remind him when to call a halt to his sermon, since
he habitually lost track of time.

There were only six old
men present in the synagogue. They were waiting for the necessary minyan before
they could start the service. My daughter sat down next to me, and one of
the old men gestured to her to go sit on the other side of the main aisle,
to preserve the traditional separation of the sexes. The upper balcony, suitably
curtained, the usual women's section, was empty. Finally three (male) tourists
arrived, one by one, and now, with the requisite number of ten men in place,
the service could begin. This certainly contrasted with the days when if we
were late, there would be standing-room only. The synagogue was without a
rabbi, the last one having left in 1972. The octogenarian conducting the service
was almost blind and seemed to be reciting the text more from memory than
with reference to the prayerbook. I was deeply gratified when I was offered
an aliyah and called to the Torah.

After the service was
over, I approached the gabbai and inquired about the Jewish cemetery called
Bassatim, where my parents were buried and whose graves I wanted to visit.
The gabbai only spoke Arabic, but we somehow managed to communicate. I was
made to understand that it would be very difficult to locate the graves, since
most of the marble memorial slabs had been taken away and used for construction.
He discouraged my going to the cemetery, since it would be impossible to identify
the graves. Reluctantly, I conceded that he was right.